


tell me which one is worse (living or dying first)

by stardustgirl



Series: Hollow Castles [2]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (blink and you miss it but if youre looking youll find it i promise), Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Background Relationships, Background Ursa Wren/Alrich Wren, Background Ursa Wren/Alrich Wren/Bo-Katan Kryze, Child Marriage, Dark, Dissociation, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Language of Flowers, Mandalorian Culture, Mando’a, Parental Bo-Katan Kryze, Past Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Political Alliances, Purple Prose, References to Hamlet, Sabine Wren Needs a Hug, This is really sad, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, bo: blocked, gar saxon: the wrens are libbies, its referenced in like one line that’s it but, she really really does, so many references its a PROBLEM, the Wren kids have three parents and bo is one of them change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: After a season of absence, Sabine returns to Krownest.(Prompt fill for “Exhaustion” and “Crying” for Whumptober.)
Relationships: Bo-Katan Kryze & Sabine Wren
Series: Hollow Castles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953304
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	tell me which one is worse (living or dying first)

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Non-Consensual Arranged Marriage, Blood, Implied Sexual Assault of a Child, Referenced Decapitation, Child Marriage, Panic Attack (Brief)

Bo-Katan sighs, rising from her chair slowly. She’s been poring over the maps for hours now, and there’s no point in continuing to do so late into the night. She can take a look tomorrow, with fresh eyes.

She blows out one of the candles, taking the smaller of the two and walking to the door. As she starts to open it, movement in the corner of her eye draws her gaze.

Her blade is drawn before she recognizes who it is, before she sees who’s standing in the corner and staring out a window at the darkened palace grounds, still except for the slight movement of her pale nightdress as she breathes deeply.

“Sabine?” she calls, her voice soft. There’s a vague tension in the room, a tension that she feels she’ll break if she dares to speak too loudly. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you...weren’t you in Kalevala with…?”

Going on seven months after the wedding, and she’s still hesitant to even speak the name of her son-in-law. Still hesitant, in reality, to admit that they failed to protect her.

Sabine murmurs something, but it’s too quiet.

“Come again?”

A shuddering sigh, audible even with the distance between them, passes through Sabine. “He’s dead,” she whispers.

A beat. And then, “Who, Sabine?”

Sabine turns halfway, and it’s only now that Bo-Katan can see the long-dried blood splattered across the front of her dress. “I killed him. I– he was– I just—“

It finally hits Bo-Katan with a wave of overwhelming _relief,_ just as Sabine exhales shakily again and starts to cry.

“Come here, _ad’ika,_ ” Bo-Katan murmurs, approaching as Sabine turns to embrace her tightly. The relief is in the background, now, overshadowed by the overwhelming realization that Sabine is still a child in all but name, that Sabine is not even fifteen and already had to do things young recruits haven’t even been tasked with yet, that Sabine is far too young to have been made a pawn in the twisted game Maul’s drawn them all into.

* * *

Sabine stays in her room that night. They curl up on the four-poster bed that’s far too posh for a captain of the guard—not that Bo-Katan thinks she’s fooling anyone with her title—just like they did whenever Sabine awoke from night terrors as a child.

Only now, the terrors are much, much more real.

And much, much more dead.

“I keep seeing him,” Sabine whispers, asleep were it not for the way she clenches Bo-Katan’s arm tightly as she cards a hand through the girl’s hair. “I keep seeing all the _blood..._ and the way his eyes….”

She can’t lie, she can’t tell Sabine that it’ll all go away eventually. She can’t, because she knows it won’t, knows it the same way she knows exactly how each of her nightmares will end with Pre’s severed head on the floor of a throne room, the same way she knows exactly how seeing an old sibling-in-arms—aside from Ursa, never Ursa—takes her back to the day the messenger from Kenobi came in to inform her of Satine’s execution in the final days of the coup. She won’t give this daughter the same false hopes she once had.

Instead, she murmurs soft words and strokes Sabine’s hair until the girl is dozing, likely only due to the exhaustion of the past few months catching up to her. Carefully, Bo-Katan moves so Sabine’s head is supported by the pillows as she leaves.

She heads straight for Ursa’s quarters, passing her guards with barely a nod and knocking only to wake up her and Alrich before entering and hurrying through to their bedchamber. She clears her throat as Ursa sits up, rubbing an eye and scowling.

“Bo, it’s the middle of the night, wh—“

“Sabine is back.”

Ursa is out of bed in moments, throwing on the nightdress Bo-Katan passes her at the same time as she lights a candle on the far end of the room with a flick of her wrist. Alrich gets up as well, though he, at least, kept his clothes by the bed. Once the two of them are dressed, she leads them out and back to her room.

Ursa utters a soft cry upon seeing Sabine, moving to go to her, but Bo-Katan holds out an arm. “She’s exhausted. Let her sleep. You can speak with her in the morning.”

Ursa nods, reluctantly. “Where...when did she show up?”

“In the library, a few hours ago. I was leaving and...somehow, she came in without my knowing.” It’s unnerving to admit that, to admit that though she is the best warrior they have, even _she_ allowed her guard to drop low enough for another to get within the keep. And yes, it was Sabine. And yes, Sabine knows this castle like the back of her hand.

But it still worries Bo-Katan that she was able to do it in the first place. Maybe not so much the fear that she’s becoming complacent, but more so that she’s now stuck wondering what could have taught Sabine—brash, reckless, wildly colorful Sabine—to become so soft-spoken and light-footed in the months she was gone.

She knows exactly who taught her that, of course. But that doesn’t mean that she likes it.

“Tell me, in the morning, if she wants...if she wants to talk, _ar’ika._ ”

She nods, acquiescing to Ursa’s request at the same time Alrich asks in a low voice, “And where’s Tiber?”

Bo-Katan offers a smile, as thin and sharp as her blade. “We won’t need to worry about him anymore.”

* * *

Sabine spends most of her day, while awake, in the library with Bo-Katan as she works on trying to find a way to both defend Krownest from the attack she’s now _certain_ is coming and keep everyone alive while doing so. She doesn’t mind the quiet; it makes it easier to work without distraction, but she can’t stand the way Sabine sits or stands or paces, all the while gazing aimlessly at something she doesn’t seem capable of naming. She wants to do something, wants to _say_ something to address the chasm between them that’s existed physically in the past several months and now more emotionally this morning.

Mentally, too, now that she thinks about it.

She waits until after lunch is brought in and Sabine’s drifted off to walk the shelves again, waits until the food is long cold and Sabine’s returned to her favored spot by the window, to attempt to broach that chasm. Bo-Katan approaches, quietly, offering her a cup of tea.

“It’s cold.”

Those words are practically the first the girl’s spoken all morning.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Sabine keeps hold of the cup anyway, though she doesn’t drink. She keeps her gaze steady on the gardens, on the violets planted in rows far too neat for the frost that will kill them come fall. Beyond them, by a winding creek, are the nettles, impossible to completely eradicate, though they and the winters have tried many times. She wonders if Sabine’s noticed them, too.

“You know, I think your mother said she would try and grow some of those inside, if you’d like.” Ursa has said no such thing, but she knows that if it would even begin to help Sabine, she would agree in a moment.

“Violets don’t grow much in the south.”

Bo-Katan nods. “Not this kind, at least.”

Shaking her head in agreement, Sabine says softly, “Rue does, though.”

Bo-Katan tries to stop the sharp inhale bubbling with _ragefuryvengeance_ within her at that, but she’s not sure it works. “I’m sorry,” she says again, after several minutes of trying to find a way to broach the subject and being unsuccessful.

Sabine doesn’t react, though Bo-Katan thinks she catches a softening of her eyes in the reflection provided by the window. “Did I put you all in danger by...by coming back?”

“No, no, of course not, _ad’ika,_ come here.” She reaches to embrace her, but Sabine steps back with a speed she’s only ever displayed in swordsmanship or riding.

“Don’t. I’m...I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Her heart splits in two at that. “Sabine, you don’t have to be—“

“Maul’s going to kill Mother for this, isn’t he?”

Her interruption is quiet, her voice pitched high as if she’s on the verge of tears. Nothing shines in her eyes, however, nothing except...except guilt.

“He’d have to be a fool to try.”

“But he will, won’t he? He’ll send other people to do it. Assassins, spies, maybe even—“

“Sabine.”

She stills at that, the swift ascent of the pitch of her voice teetering at the top of a cliff that Bo-Katan’s not sure she’ll make it away from alive.

“The Emperor doesn’t know, alright? So there’s no way he could do anything.”

“But when he learns—“

“You did it with a knife, yes?”

Sabine hesitates before nodding.

“Good. That’s easy enough to explain away. If he dares come to Krownest, you were grieving, and wanted to be with family, yeah? And you wanted Ursa’s advice on how to deal with the situation.”

“And...who takes the fall?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Does that matter?”

“I don’t...I….I’m not a coward, _Buir._ I can– I can deal with the consequences of my actions. I’m not a child anymore because I’m kriffing _married,_ okay?! I’m not going to hide again. I _can’t_ hide again.”

Bo-Katan lets her ramble until her voice drops back to the soft whisper it’s been until now before she speaks. “Sometimes, hiding is all we _can_ do, Sabine. It doesn’t mean we’re any less. It just means we’re protecting ourselves the best we can, licking our wounds so we can heal faster.”

“Even...even if it’s putting other people in danger?”

She snorts. “I don’t think you’re _capable_ of putting your mother in danger, young lady.”

The edges of Sabine’s lips quirk up halfway into an almost-smile, but only for a moment. Then they’ve fallen again.

“Is there anything I can do to help...to help make you feel more okay?” she says after floundering for a long time with how to word her question. Sabine hesitates before shaking her head.

“Thank you, though.”

“Of course. Do you just...want to stay here? Or…?”

“Is it okay if I stay in here?”

“Sure. It is _your_ library, after all.”

* * *

Sabine is healing, she thinks, or at least starting to, when it all comes crashing down.

A group of horsemen ride up to the gates, and they must be important because they’re let in without a moment’s delay. Sabine trails behind Bo-Katan as she heads toward the front steps, tugging her gauntlets on just in case. Sabine has armor, too, she knows, though she hasn’t seen the girl wear it since she came back a couple of weeks ago.

She reaches the large set of doors at the front of the palace just as Ursa, Alrich, and Tristan do, their expressions equally as confused as her own. Ursa’s in some of her armor, Tristan as well, though Bo-Katan is the only one among them who’s fully equipped.

She lets Ursa take the lead as they exit to meet the riders milling in the courtyard. However, Ursa hardly makes it three steps before she’s hissing under her breath, “Get yourself and Sabine back inside, Bo, _now._ ”

“My queen—“

“ _Now!_ ”

She doesn’t have another opportunity to protest, _or_ obey, because the leader of the riders dismounts and steps forward. Bo-Katan stiffens; even from here, at the top of the steps, she _knows_ that walk.

“Glad to see Castle Wren is just as welcoming as ever, what with all of the armor and regalia? It’s almost as if you were preparing to go to _war_ with us, Lady Wren.”

Ursa doesn’t correct her title, only stares at him with an expression Bo-Katan can only guess at. Sabine shifts closer to her, and she subconsciously murmurs, “It’ll be okay, _ad’ika._ ”

Gar Saxon stops at the foot of the stairs, close enough Bo-Katan can see his arrogant grin. “Ah, and with the in-law as well. Sabine, won’t you come down and greet your brother _properly?_ ”

The _or else_ within his words is as plain as day, except, apparently, to Tristan. Admittedly, he’s still young, still learning there’s a balance between courage and foolishness. “But _I’m_ Sabine’s brother!”

“Of course you are,” he says, laughing. She doesn’t like the glint in his eyes as he studies them, studies _Tristan._ She’s surprised he’s wary of the boy, now that Tiber’s dead and Sabine is stuck in a state of in between and Tristan is left to clutch at the crown with all the energy a twelve-year-old boy can muster. Then again, maybe he knows— _he doesn’t he doesn’t there’s_ no way _he could know—_ that Sabine killed his brother. Maybe he knows that there’s a likelihood she comes from a line of kingslayers.

(He would be right, Bo-Katan thinks to herself.)

“How long do you plan on staying?” Alrich calls down. Gar is forced to finally break his gaze from Krownest’s last remaining innocent to face the husband of the Dragon of the North.

“Sabine and I will need to plan out the funeral, of course. And there are several customs that need to be observed, even by the more... _liberal_ part of the family.” His minimal avoidance of calling them _barbarians_ hangs in the air like a fog, and it’s impossible to miss the way Ursa’s posture stiffens at the implied insult.

“Of course,” Alrich says quickly, ever the diplomat. “We will...make the necessary arrangements for you and your men.”

“If you had given us advanced notice of your arrival, then perhaps we would have prepared beforehand,” Ursa says icily. Gar merely waves the hand not holding his reins in dismissal.

“No need to fret over the past, Lady Wren. We are here now, and that is all that is relevant, yes?” She bristles visibly at the disregard for her true title, but nods after a moment. Bo-Katan feels Sabine’s hand find hers.

“Good. Servants will inform you of your accommodations soon,” she states, voice curt and brokering no room for debate. She turns on her heel and strides back inside, Alrich ushering Tristan, Sabine, and Bo-Katan before him as they re-enter the front hall.

Ursa turns the moment the doors thud closed. “Sabine. Is there anything you would like to tell me about how Tiber died?”

The girl worries at her lip for a moment before sighing. “I killed him.”

Ursa only nods. “Good. That _chakaar_ deserved it.” Without another word, she turns and retreats further into the keep.

Alrich squeezes Sabine’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort, remaining silent as he follows behind Ursa, but Tristan hesitates. The boy shifts his weight from foot to foot before blurting out, “I think that’s pretty brave of you. He seemed kind of mean to you, and– and to our parents.” He whirls, scurrying off to who knows where, and Bo-Katan shakes her head fondly.

“Was I right to tell them?” Sabine asks without looking up.

“It was your choice to tell them, or not to. If that’s what you picked, then yeah, it was.” The girl— _Queen,_ she realizes with a swiftly-mounting horror—nods.

“Thank you, _Buir._ ”

She pulls Sabine into a hug, loose enough she can pull away if she feels trapped, and smooths her hair back gently as she makes a promise to herself.

House Saxon will not live past this generation, not as long as she and the rest who have pledged their loyalty to the Wren banner have any breath left in their lungs.


End file.
